//Bet you were wondering if I had died or something. But no, the simple truth is that my mom *sniff sniff* got rid of the Internet. Nooooo!! Why me!? Doesn't she know that there are people who expect me to finish this story? Yeesh. Well, anyway, I'm back, with the assistance of my dad's computer, and I'm ready to keep this story moving. Sorry about the wait!

Oh, and, keep a box of tissues handy. Just a warning.//

Hinc Illae Lacrimae
Chapter 12: Amor Vincit Omnia



When Watson got back-- early, I might add-- it was necessary to explain to him why his patient, Mr. Carrisford, had no recollection of sending a telegram to the good doctor about a bad cabbage. According to Holmes, it would "simply not have done" to have Watson around cramping his style while he confessed his love to me, which he had apparently been planning for quite some time. Who knew?

Thankfully, Dr. Chuckles was not mad. On the contrary; he was ecstatic that one of us had finally worked up the nerve to tell the other. "Wonderful! That's what it is, wonderful!" he exclaimed, pumping Holmes's and my hand with frenzied energy. "I doubted the day I would ever see Sherlock Holmes, the most cold, practical man in London, take a woman for himself; certainly not one whom he parallels so notably! I daresay," he added with a devilish wink at me, "you've managed to, as he says, bewitch him after all."

Holmes patted his friend's shoulder with a somewhat abashed grin. "Good old Watson," he said, turning to me with a little laugh. "You see, now, how much faith he has in my ability to successfully charm a member of the fairer sex. I must say, I am slightly offended."

"Aww, poor dear," I replied with a smirk, patting his cheek reassuringly. "If it's any comfort, you didn't even have to try."

"Why, darling, that *does* offer comfort!" He smiled that relentlessly adorable smile of his. "But if there is one thing I cannot abide, it is being constantly reminded of that ever-present ticking clock."

Watson frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He means," I said, sighing, "that now that I've evidently done whatever it was I was supposed to do in the nineteenth century--"

"Which, of course, was to abolish the threat her great-grandfather posed," Holmes interjected helpfully.

"--yes, thank you; nothing is technically preventing me from returning to my own time. Not that we have any idea how I got here in the first place, but it's only a matter of time before..." I trailed off and bit my lip, unable to say more.

Holmes wrapped a possessive arm around my waist. "What Amanda is making a valiant effort to say," he said solemnly, "is that each moment she spends here could very well be her last."

For a while Watson was silent, the gravity of the entire situation sinking in. It dawned on me that having to part with the kind, gentle doctor would be almost as hard as never seeing Holmes again. Finally he cleared his throat. "Is there not a thing we can do to prolong her stay, then?"

"I must admit, I do not believe so," Holmes whispered, closing his eyes. The grief and uncertainty in his mere voice made my throat tighten unbearably.

"But!" he abruptly continued, and very loudly. Watson and I flinched at the sudden verbal explosion. The detective released me hastily and looked me straight in the eye, his steely gaze unexpectedly determined. "If there is indeed nothing I can do to prevent you from being so savagely taken from me," he announced, greatly emphasizing the word 'savagely', "there is one thing I *can* do to ensure that you will still be with me... even..." He swallowed. "Even after you are gone."

Upon trying to reply, I found that I could not speak.

Holmes took a deep breath and fell onto his knees in front of me, his eyes now undeniably resolute. "Marry me."

Now *that* I was not expecting.

As if from a million miles away, I heard a sharp intake of breath from Watson, along with the gasping words "Lord in heaven". To some extent, I could feel my mouth drop open, my eyes widen, my lungs struggle to take in air. Other than that, the only things I were aware of were those adamant blue-grey eyes and the pinpoint of light that suddenly glinted in Holmes's thin white hand. Time seemed to have halted as my eyes raked over the delicate curves of a dainty gold ring, a petite diamond of an old-fashioned cut set into the center.

I rested a hand involuntarily on my chest, at last recovering my ability to speak. "Sherlock, I... I, I honestly don't know what to say."

Fear dimmed his eyes for an instant. "You don't know what to say? Amanda, I am quite easily the least romantically acquainted man on the face of the earth, but I do know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that I love you. And if the amount of days, whether they be one or one million, that we spend together make no difference to the Fates, then I have no other option available to me than to make you mine for as long as I can." He breathed in, a catch sounding in his throat. "But my darling Amanda does not know what to say? If you love me, girl, say *yes*."

The sweet, delusional fool didn't believe he was romantic. Well, you can think what you want, but I, for one, would have to disagree. Was it even a question of what I was going to say?

I smiled and stroked his clean-shaven face, blinking away tears as they threatened to blur the sight of my guardian angel. "Mkay."

"'Mkay'?!" He stood up and grabbed my hand, shaking his head in frustration. "For God's sake, Amanda, you and your Americanisms! Give me a coherent answer!"

"Would it make you feel better if I said 'righto'?" I asked, unable to hold back a laugh. "Yes, Sherlock, my answer is yes!"

His eyes widened perceptibly. "It is? You mean, you will?"

I nodded, grinning uncontrollably.

He let out a high, giddy laugh and kissed me once, then twice, then pulled me into a crushing hug. Then, remembering the ring, he took my hand and gently slipped the elegant band onto my third finger. "I am truly sorry I could not find a more impressive jewel to befit such a woman, but I was a bit pressed for time, you see. My word! Such little hands, such little hands!" he exclaimed in awe, lifting it up to the light shining in through the front window. "Well, I shall protect these hands and the pixie who owns them in every way possible. Watson! Have you nothing to say, man?"

Watson sat on the sofa, his legs splayed on the rug. His shoulders were slumped, and his eyes had a sort of disconnected appearance to them. He looked sufficiently dazed. "Someone... Someone call a doctor."



I truly wish I could tell you that everything turned out fine, that the prince and his princess got married and lived happily every after. I really do. But as much as I still wish for it to this day, I am forced to admit that some things just don't turn out the way we want them to. And if you haven't already guessed what I mean by this, you will as I keep writing.

The very evening following Holmes's proposal, Watson decided to be a chum and leave the Baker Street rooms to us by accepting the invitation by his old friend, Stamford, to visit. Holmes and I sat side by side before the crackling fire, his nose buried in his old book of crime records and my eyes still glued in amazement to the band of polished gold that encircled my finger. It was almost as if I didn't believe it was there, that the events of the day had actually happened.

One look at the detective's-- my fiancé's-- affectionate smile as he draped a languid arm around my shoulders assured me that it was all very real.

"Come," he said suddenly, taking my hand and pulling us both to our feet. "There is a place I have been meaning to take you for some time."

I blinked, slightly perplexed. "All right," I replied as he retrieved my coat from the closet and held it out for me to slip into. "Do you mind if I ask where?"

"Of course I mind, you silly girl!" he blurted out, much to my bewilderment. "Am I not allowed to surprise you once in a while if I so wish?"

I laughed despite myself at Holmes's blunt response. "I suppose not. But, to be fair, you've surprised me plenty in the last twenty-four hours."

After donning his own coat, he smiled apologetically and tapped me lightly on the nose. "Shall we? Oh dear, how careless of me!" he exclaimed, smacking his forehead with the heel of his palm. "I have forgotten something important. Wait right here, darling." Before I got a chance to respond, he rushed out of the room, returning after a moment with his violin case. "*Now* we may go," he said, linking his arm through mine.

Following a short cab ride through the wet, cobbled streets of the city, we finally came to a halt outside a tall, Gothic-style building with yellow-glass windows. Holmes climbed out of the hansom first and, after helping me out like the perfect gentleman he was(most of the time), escorted me up the steps to the front doors. A sign on the face of the building read in brass letters, 'LONDON CITY LIBRARY'.

I turned to Holmes. "This is where you wanted to bring me?" I asked, puzzled.

He nodded. "Unless you have forgotten, which I sincerely hope you have not, this is the exact location where we first met." He smiled and added, "Of course, we were on much different terms then, as you'll recall."

"I remember," I answered, smiling back.

He pushed the door open and ushered me through, leading me through the vast halls and dusty shelves until at last we reached the very window where I first found the famous detective, his bow flying expertly over the strings of his Stradivarius. Without a word, Holmes guided me to the wide sill, motioning for me to take a seat. I obeyed, watching as he sat next to me and pulled his violin out of its case.

I couldn't help but smile automatically. The dim lights of the lamps reflected dully off the surface of the instrument as Holmes propped it on his shoulder, raising the bow with much ceremony. "I wrote this piece before I left to catch the train," he said gravely. "Forgive me if it sounds a bit doleful to your ears. The prospect of being unable ever to see you again was rightly distressing." He grinned unexpectedly. "Though not so distressing as I would find confirming the jeweler's inference that I was indeed looking for a woman's ring would be."

I laughed, imagining what it must have been like for him. *Sherlock Holmes shopping for a wedding ring?* I thought. *Yes, that idea might be somewhat hard to believe.*

Instantly I fell silent, however, as the first heartbreaking strains of Holmes's newly composed piece filled the air. I sat, a little stunned, taking in the melancholy notes. It was almost as if the violin was not a mere musical instrument, but some piteous creature, wailing mournfully at the loss of its mate. Unsettled by Holmes's uncanny ability to express his feelings through his music, I shifted in the windowsill and leaned my back against his legs, which were drawn up to his chest. Somehow I knew, despite my urge to give him a comforting hug to assure him I was there, that it was important to him for me to hear this.

After a while, though, my eyelids began to grow heavy, listening to the gloomy music. Regrettably too drowsy to pay attention, I snuggled further against my fiancé's legs and drifted off.



"Miss?"

Mah. Go away.

"Miss, the library is closed," came a brusque female voice with an unexpectedly American accent. "I'm not sure how you managed to escape our notice for this long, but it's time for everyone to clear out."

I opened my eyes slowly and sat up. A middle-aged woman stood before me, tapping her foot impatiently. She was wearing glasses, a yellow blouse, and... jeans? What the hell?

"Wh-- where's Sherlock?" I asked, mostly to myself. I suddenly stood, growing fearful. *Neon lights in the ceiling?* I thought wildly. *A computerized search system? A paper shredder, oh God, this can't be happening.* I looked down at myself, baffled to see the crimson Victorian dress I had been wearing before...

Before I fell asleep.

"No," I whispered, feeling hot tears track down my cheeks. "Oh God, please, no."

"Miss," the librarian said, confused, "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to leave. This is a library, not a Seven-Eleven."

I spotted my old backpack lying against the legs of a table, and I picked it up numbly, throwing it over my shoulder. As I staggered out of the building, sobbing quietly, the light from a flickering streetlamp reflected off the elegant diamond ring I still wore on my finger. I looked at it with confusion and despair, wishing with everything I had that I could have at least said goodbye.



Dimly, I was aware that the phone was ringing. A phone. I forgot I had one of those. I hauled myself up from the kitchen table and grabbed the phone from the hook.

"Hello?" I croaked in a washed-out voice I barely recognized as my own.

"Manda, where have you been?" my sister's voice shouted on the other end. "I called the university like, a million times, and they said you haven't been coming to your classes! What's up with you?"

"Val," I said wearily, "I just... don't feel up to it. Is that reason enough?"

Valerie snorted. "Ooh, 'don't feel up to it'. Boo-hoo, I can almost hear the violin music in the background. By the way, you sound really weird. And when was the last time you paid your rent?"

"I can honestly say I don't remember."

"Well, you better get cracking on that." She laughed. "Sorry, sissy, just worried about you, is all. Hey, did you hear? I'm moving back into the city!"

"Really," I said, sinking back against the counter, feeling the diamond ring bounce against my neck as it dangled on its chain.

"Yup. I just got sick of all the cutesy little houses and the nuclear family crap. I was looking at the perfectly manicured lawns and the 2.3 children, and I just thought to myself, 'I seriously do not belong here.' Ever get that feeling, Manda?"

I wiped a tear from my feverish cheek. "Every single day."




//Don't cry, friends. It isn't as bad as you may think right now. ...Well, okay, so it is. But there's going to be an epilogue, where I promise things will turn out better. I never leave a story leaving people utterly hopeless, if I can help it. Besides, after Holmes's proposal, which was probably the sweetest thing I've ever written, I couldn't just leave the two of them brokenhearted forever. Don't worry. It'll be all right.

Oh hey! I *finally* drew Amanda and Holmes together! Whee! It's not that great, and I'm not sure how it happened(at least on a conscious level), but Holmes somehow ended up looking kind of like Jude Law. Don't ask me why! Anyway, take a look-see, and maybe review?

http://www.mediaminer.org/fanart/view.php?id=66492

-Wakizashi//